


i never wanna say goodbye.

by nopehes (orphan_account)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boyfriends, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fluffiness, Hinder, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mild Smut, Smut, Song fic, harry plays with his ring a lot, larry - Freeform, lips of an angel, lips of an angel by hinder, long distance, lourry, smut warning, sort of a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 21:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2707943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nopehes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The AU in which H&L realized they were in love just a little too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i never wanna say goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> this is all erin's fault. it's bringing me back to 2013 when i wrote a niall/harry fic, and it was based off this song. it was three chapters long and quite terrible. this has the same ideas as before, just more mature and not so, well, shitty. xx

**His phone sits on the coffee table, screen black.**  

The time is nearing 10:30pm, and he knows it's just about 3:30am where Louis is. Soft music is playing from the stereo system as he paces back and forth in the living room of his LA apartment. Cars honk and people shout to each other in the street below and taxi headlights illuminate his face as they drive by. 

Idly he plays with the ring on his right pointer finger, twisting it about as he paces. The hang nail has lost its appeal and he's since given up on biting it off. He feels compelled, almost, to check his phone, and this is the only form of self-pacification he hasn't fully exploited (and then given up on).

Harry doesn't know what he thinks he'll find. A text, maybe, or even a voicemail. Some form of communication from the boy across the sea who's probably asleep in his bed, arms wrapped around his new lover. The mental image itself is enough to squeeze at Harry's heart and pull the air from his lungs. It's like choking on ash and smoke; the harder he tries to fight the burning sensation, the worse it gets. It fills him up and consumes him completely from the inside out, charring everything in its path. It is nostalgia, the mistress to which he's given his every waking thought, and tonight she seeks to destroy him completely. 

He spins the ring faster and faster, moving it up and down in agitation. It feels heavy against his skin; a remnant of months filled with soft kisses and gentle caresses. Broken promises and a story of something so pure -- so beautiful -- that the two boys turned and ran away from it the moment things got too serious, too real. 

Down on the street someone laughs, and the sound makes its way up to Harry's window and through the glass. He doesn't bother looking down onto the street to see who made the noise. He doesn't care. All he can think about is how annoying and obnoxious that laugh sounds simply because it isn't Louis'. It doesn't sound like music, it doesn't make butterflies flutter within his gut. That laugh doesn't pull a smile onto his face and make him want to laugh along too. 

Sighing, he presses his face to the cold glass. He watches as his breath fogs up the window for a moment before it's crystal clear again. 

They'd been stupid, he thinks to himself. They'd been so damn foolish and naïve and just plain... yeah. Stupid. 

Hiding wasn't the worst thing they had to do. Sure, Louis' parents were homophobic and came close to catching the two acting a little friendlier than platonic friends would, but Louis had been preparing to leave home and never return anyway. Of course, the matching tattoos were hard to hide as well, but they were young and in love and back then forver had really meant forever. Surely all of the stolen kisses and tender caresses had meant something -- had meant the world -- back then, but what did they mean now? What did everything that had meant so much to both of th boys really mean now?

The short and simple answer is that they still mean everything. The complicated and over thought answer is that they mean nothing.

Harry shakes his head and pushes himself away from the window. It's dangerous, letting himself hover near windows more than two stories up. Glass is breakable and he's a strong 22 year old who would shatter it with his body in moments. 

He sits at the table and spins his phone on the wooden surface, staring at the hang nail again. The feeling to rip it off surges through his body with a newfoun zeal and he puts his finger to his lips, teeth seeking the sliver of nail and skin. He grips it tightly and yanks, hissing when the nail is ripped off and partly down his finger toward the first knuckle. Blood immeidately begins to bead on his skin and he puts his finger to his mouth to suck it away.

It stings and he welcomes the feeling. After months of being numb, he'll take any feeling he can get.

 

* * *

 

Louis can feel Eleanor's arms wrap around his torso as she snuggles closer to him in her sleep. He chews on his lip and chokes down a shaky breath as he wills himself to lether and not push her off. The alarm clock on his bedside table tells him it's just after 3:30 and he can feel his eyes burning from being open for so long. Slowly he blinks in an attempt to ease the pain. 

Two years ago, when he was 22 and smarter, he was the happiest man alive. Sure he had a few family problems, but he had the love of his life in one hand and the world's greatest job in the other. He was being offered a permanent spot as a blog writer for Buzz Feed news, complete with dental and health insurance, 3 weeks annually to use as paid time off, a decent 401k and not to mention his own desk on the third floor of their office building in Manhattan. Everyone loved his British accent, and humor, which made him a novelty of sorts. He was far away from home, but so was Harry, and somehow they knew they could make it work. 

Of course, a drunken fight and too many burried feelings landed him on a 5:30 am flight back home, leaving behind a  broken hearted boyfriend lying on the couch, too stunned to do anything. 

Tilting his head to the side so as not to disturb Eleanor beside him, Louis turns to look at his phone. The screen is black and he fights the urge to check it. He doesn't know what he wants to see. A message notification, perhaps. Or even an email. A twitter icon with the words _@Harry_Styles: bananas r lyfe._ followed by Harry's icon. 

It's been six months since the last time he heard Harry's voice. He wonders what it would sound like right now. A little rough and hoarse since he's no doubt exhausted, even though it's only 10:30 (Harry never adjusted well to time zones no matter ho long he stayed in one place). He lived life in UK time, and it amused Louis in the beginning. Now he is thankful, because it means he can usually find some sort of peace knowing that when he's asleep Harry most likely is too. 

Then again, Louis doesn't sleep much anymore. He's lucky if he can close his eyes for a few short moments and relax enough to quiet his mind and pretend to sleep. Nyquil only leaves a disgusting after taste in his mouth, and Tylenol PM does little to ease his anxiety. 

Slowly he detaches himself from Eleanor and grabs his phone, walking into the bathroom. He closes the door and sinks to the floor in the darkness, sitting on the little rug in front of the sink. He stares into the blackness surrounding him and suddenly wishes this was where he existed 24/7. It's peaceful, quiet, and easy to get lost in. In here he doesn't feel Eleanor's acrylic nails scraping across his skin, or her faint and obnoxious snores drilling into his ear drums. 

In his hands, the phone starts to vibrate. It's soft -- so soft he barely notices it in time -- but it's there and vibrating and holy shit he knows those eleven digits he's had them memorized since he was eighteen. His heart starts to speed up in his chest and he thinks he might throw up a little bit. He's nauseous and excited and he can't really see anything because damn his screen brightness is all the way up but it's real it's Harry this isn't a dream. 

"Hello?"

Louis doesn't even realize that he's answered the phone until he hears that voice. God, that voice. It's sweet like sugar, smooth like honey and soft like velvet. He could drown in that voice. 

"Harry."

His name comes out like a whipsered breath and Harry chuckles at that. Louis blushes even though he can't be seen. There, in the dark, with his girl in the other room, Louis falls in love all over again.

"Louis."

Harry is hesitent on the other end of the phone and Louis sits up a little straighter. He has to compose himself. He's a man -- an adult. He's in  committed relationship with his fiancé and getting married in less than two months. Childhood flings aren't worth his time, especially since he hasn't spoken to said childhood fling in months. 

(Louis knows he's lying to himself. He knows he's messing up his entire life; his future. He doesn't love Eleanor. He likes that she provides comfort, simplicity, and stability. He is a man, he should be with a woman. No boy with wild hair and bright green eyes should ruin that for him.)

(That's another lie and Louis feels extremely guilty, but he supresses his guilt to the best of his ability."

"I missed you."

Harry lets out a shaky breath and Louis chews on his bottom lip, listening to Harry try to compose himself on the other end of the phone. The two of them are a mess, Louis thinks. Look at them. One is hiding from his fiancé in their bathroom while the other is probably wearing down a path in the hardwood panelling of his kitchen floor.

"I missed you too," Louis tells him. "So much."

"I couldn't not call you, I-" Louis knows Harry is fighting hard not to cry, and he knows he has to get off the phone before they both do or say something that could be detrimental to the both of them. 

"Why are you calling me?" He knows cutting Harry off isn't a good thing. It makes Harry feel panicked and rushed, and he messes up his words and thoughts when he gets like that. But that's what Loui wants. He wants raw and emotional and real and dammit he's not okay. He's happy Harry called. He feels like he could fly. "Is everything okay?"

"Why are you whispering?" 

"Eleanor's in the other room," Louis explains as quietly as possible. He sighs, running his free hand through his hair. He'll never say it, but sometime Louis wishes she was him. 

"Oh," is all Harry replies. 

Louis is in his own world, trapped somewhere between hearing his name whispered from Harry's lips and realizing every mistake he's made up to this point. He knows he hasn't moved on. Neither of them have. Harry burries his feelings in book manuscripts and Louis covers his up with the overly sweet and headache-inducing scent of Eleanor's perfume. 

"I've been dreaming about you," Harry quickly adds, not wanting to lose the conversation. Louis' heart squeezes tightly in his chest. 

"I've been dreaming about you too," he allows himself to admit. "Does your girlfriend know you're talking to me?"

 

* * *

 

Harry tilts his head slightly toward the bedroom, thinking of the blonde lying in his bed. She sleeps restlessly, tossing and turning. He can hear the bed shifting beneath her weight every so often. 

"No," Harry allows, staring at the kitchen table. "Does Eleanor know?"

"She doesn't have a clue," Louis chuckles almost darkly. "She's slept through fire alarms before."

Harry laughs softly at that too before the conversation hits a dead end. He doesn't want to hang up. Neither of them do, but it has to happen. The phone calls have to stop. All of this waiting around for nothing has to stop. They had their chance, and they blew it. 

"Why'd you call me, Harry?"

"To hear your voice," he admits immediately before shaking his head. All of the air leaves his lungs in a defeated sigh. His shoulders slouch as the last of his energy is spent. 

"I have to go."

Harry panicks. He doesn't want Louis to leave. If Louis leaves, he might never hear from him again. Who knows when either of them will get the courage, or run out of self control, to call the other. He can't lose him again. He can't. 

"Okay."

Just before the line goes dead, Harry hears Louis let out a choked sob. He starts to say Louis' name to get him to stay, but a click lets him know that the phone call is over. It's all over. 

Two small hands rest on his shoulders. He doen't jump. Instead he leans back into the touch, closing his eyes. The hands move from his shoulders to his chest, pulling him flush against a smooth and lean stomach. 

"Come to bed, love," Erin whispers. "It's getting late."

 

**The End.**

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos and comments x


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